I cannot thank you enough
for the years of gentle encouragement
as I tried
again and again
and again and again
to grow my garden of dreams.
Dreams, as beautiful as they are,
are equally delicate,
and the fear that I would break their petals
kept my arms pinned to my sides.
But you were always there,
quick to unlock my hope,
leading my hands to the dreams.
I’d cup them,
so gingerly,
and when I’d glance up,
your eyes would shine,
and you would tell me
“It’s okay. Let them grow. Let them all grow.”

We’ve faced terrible winters.
I’ve watched too many dreams
wilt and disintegrate,
their crumbs carried off by the wind before I could mourn.
You’ve witnessed me break from the cold,
stomp through my garden,
and try to crush my hopes
before something or someone else could.
That must have hurt you more than any frost.
I know this now.
Now, my garden flourishes.
She stretches out,
as if preparing for the morning.
With my garden,
I’ve grown as well.
You have me,
a gardener who never stops dreaming

This letter is to let you know
that you are still wanted here,
because I have built a path
for the two of us to stroll down,
hand in hand,
the perfume of possibility
prompting smiles to bloom
across our faces.